


Were Broken by Each Other...

by Star_Prince



Series: Wish Upon a Star-Lord [3]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Blackmail, Crack, Dirty Talk, Disney, Headcanon, M/M, Oral Sex, Pocket, Quill definitely likes it rough, Rocket screwed up, Roquill - Freeform, Rough Oral Sex, Smut, Story series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 10:42:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2544614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_Prince/pseuds/Star_Prince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heading back to his room after having to fix his sabotaged ship, Quill is looking forward to another bit of rest. When he finds his room torn apart and a half-naked raccoon on his bed, he soon realizes that he wasn't going to get very much sleep at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Were Broken by Each Other...

Two hours after he had woken to Gamora screaming, Peter Quill was trudging along bleakly to his room; after being reprimanded over the state of his ship for nearly 20 minutes, the Terran then had to dismantle the life support controls, locate the water systems, and proceed to toy and mess with the temperature unit until his green Guardian finally stopped nagging him long enough for him to slink off miserably.

 Exhausted, hungry, and more than a little peeved that someone decided the best place to store their stash of EMPs was in a box filled with wires and circuits that were currently keeping them alive, the Terran thanked his lucky stars that soon enough he’d have the opportunity to sink back into his bed, close his eyes, and drift back off to sleep without having to worry about anything else. Eyes were already half-closed as he fantasized about the love affair he was about to have with his bed, a hand moving to his hips so digits could idly tug at the hem of his waistband so his pants would bundle in a heap around his ankles.

Off slipped the red leather jacket he had grabbed earlier, the Terran simply letting it tumble to the ground and crumple up with his pants which were now being stepped out of. Yes, this was exactly what he needed, a few more hours of peace and quiet after a particularly rough morning and an even rougher night; no Gamora screaming at him, no Drax questioning why there were insects crawling through his ship’s equipment (“No no, that’s not what I meant by bug in the system…”), no Rocket threatening t-

Not even through with his last thought, Quill was jolted awake after he stumbled over the pile of bunched-up bed sheets that the resident raccoon had so rudely decided not to clean up, the Terran blinking wildly as stared at the cloth that littered the ground. He wasn’t crazy, he knew that he didn’t leave his covers just lying in the middle of the room like that…or leave a large portion of his closet’s wardrobe and a fair number of books and knickknacks littering the floor. A soft groan escaped the man’s stubbled throat as he raised his head towards the ceiling, eyes screwing shut as an overtaxed mind slowly began to work at understanding what was at play here. His ship was sabotaged, his room trashed; Quill knew that these were the classic signs of burglary and for better or worse, he knew just the sort of man that would dare steal from the legendary Star-Lord…and he came built in with his own little bandit mask.

No sooner had the image of Rocket flashed in his mind than the other’s voice crooned out to the Terran, a sickly-sweet tone of malevolence corrupting his honeyed words. “Oh, Quill, you’re back! So very glad ya could make it, we’ve got _so much_ t’discuss!” Looking up towards his bed the Terran actually flinched as he caught sight of the raccoon; it wasn’t Rocket’s expected fury over some known cause that made Quill want to shuffle out of the room, no he had dealt with that kind of anger before and was prepared for it.

What he was not prepared for was a half-naked Rocket sitting on his torn-apart bed, a disconcerting grin plastered over his muzzle and eyes boring into Quill’s. The last thing Peter wanted was to get closer to that mad-looking raccoon that, for some odd reason, he would have preferred completely nude over wearing a pair of forest green boxers; at least that way he’d seem more like some forest critter that happened upon a human’s room rather than a sentient being that chose of his own free will to sit down and lounge on another’s bed with a few articles of clothing missing and a small mound of videos stacked around him.

Videos. The Terran’s jaw tensed while he craned his neck, a need to confirm his suspicions temporarily having him forget about that escape plan he was hatching; in fact, Quill had taken a step or two forward in his attempt to check his fears, which he soon discovered were true as the raccoon began to chuckle out. “Lady ‘n th’ Tramp? Fox ‘n th’ Hound? The Aristocats, Lion King 1…2….and 1 ½?” Shaking his head, the furball gave a predatory smirk towards Quill, a finger quickly moving to point at a few of the movies in front of him. “101 Dalmatians, The Cat Returns, Dumbo, Bambi, Robin Hood, A Goofy Movie…” The procyon had to pause at this point to take a deep breath while Peter fidgeted in place, eyes shifting back behind him once more, no doubt judging the distance between him and the door, then moving down to soak in his, and Rocket’s lack of pants.

“Y’hear what I said Quill? Course ya didn’, prolly fantasizin’.” Amber eyes turned skyward as the raccoon gave the most exasperated expression he could muster, the corners of his mouth turning downwards into a wide grimace as he repeated himself to a very confused looking Star-Lord. “Beauty ‘n the Beast, prolly sickest one ‘f all ‘n ya got it displayed like some kinda krutackin’ piece of art!” A slight roughness edged itself into the raccoon’s tone as his voice lowered into a slighted growl, a vindictive grin and intense stare fixed on the (for once) speechless Quill.

After a full minute of silence where Quill simply stared towards Rocket, slowly alternating his weight between legs, the raccoon snapped his fingers and waved a hand in front of the other, practically barking out “I said get _over_ here Star-Dork ‘nless ya want all of the known galaxy (least the civilized part that’s got th’ Holonet) t’hear ‘n see ya singin’ in your undies, watchin’ a lil’ ba-“

“ALRIGHT! Alright just…fine…whatever…” Quill plodded over towards the other, scowling as he inched closer and closer, tentatively standing up near the male’s side. A few loud patting sounds and coarse chuckling were all Quill needed to hear to know his chosen position was not  the ideal or intended one, and as he felt clawed digits dig into the fabric of those orange boxerbriefs, he couldn’t help but let out a startled gasp and sink down beside the raccoon. Now sitting at what he felt was an uncomfortably close distance to Rocket, Quill kept up his pouting, choosing to remain silent throughout whatever treachery was about to ensue, figuring that this was one time he didn’t want his big mouth to get him into further trouble.

A hand on his thigh had Quill jumping up this time, and his gaze moved from the space of floor in between his feet to the much more casually dressed male beside him; brows furrowed as the Terran stared at the other, the man just not quite sure how to take this development in his little story. His secret found out, his ship tampered with, his room broken into and personal property stolen, now a half-naked blackmailer whispering madly in hushed tones. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Quill couldn’t help but feel a little turned on by that thought; of a blackmailer threatening to spill a secret unless they were satiated sexually, of secret rendezvous in sketchy motel rooms that devolved into hot, passionate nights that were a combination of shame, embarrassment, and relief.

“I knew ya were messed up Quill, but never imagine ya’d be into _this_.” Peter went pale as the simple sentence was spoken, his face losing color before his cheeks began to burn a dull rosy color; could Rocket read minds or something, because after a comment like that…well, all the Terran could really do was deny and hide the evidence, a hand brushing Rocket’s fingers away from his thigh before moving up to help block the view of the slight bulge he had forming down below.

“Got no idea what you’re talkin’ about Rocky. But, let’s say we calm down a little yeah? Take a deep breath before we’re liable to make a mistake, hurt someone, do somethin’ we might regret. Whaddya say buddy?” It was a long shot, but with the right kind of charm Quill was sure he’d be able to pull it off, after all, he and Rocket were buddies, pals, amigos, thick as thieves! Well, that’s what he thought at least, and judging by Rocket’s reaction, Quill clearly had the wrong idea about the two.

As the other blathered on, Rocket’s eyes narrowed and his lips twitched up into a disgusted snarl, and just like that, the ticking time bomb of a raccoon was set off, its full fury aimed directly at the poor, oblivious Peter Quill. It started with physical violence: a hand swiping at the Terran’s chest, claws snagging and slicing through that cotton t-shirt so they could drag along bare flesh, leaving a thin stream of red bleeding into the white cloth above while the skin around the superficial wounds grew pink and raw. “Don’ even try it with that shit Quill, I _know_ ; I fuggin’ **know** what ya’ve been doin’ and yer a sick fuckin’ bastard.” A small, agile hand grabbed on to the Terran’s shirt collar and yanked him forward, the dainty looking paw betraying the raw strength that the metal inside strengthened; Rocket’s other hand smacked Peter’s cheek firmly, the man gasping and going wide-eyed as a bit of claw passed over his flesh, leaving welt marks stinging there in a very distinct patter.

Quill was mortified, frozen stiffly in place, staring stupidly down to the raccoon who was now scurrying up the Terran, planting his feet firmly into abdominal muscle so he could use the spaceman himself as a stepping stool. But it wasn’t the violence or the degradation that had Peter wanting to die of humiliation; it was the fact that Rocket knew exactly what to do to turn him on.

A little bit of pain; a few harsh, firm words; hell, being ordered to do this or that by someone half his size…Peter Quill had long since moved on from the vanilla side of sex, instead crossing over to find new kinks, new experiences that would have him moaning and hissing out louder than a Skrull in rut(and honestly, that Askervaarian he always mentioned definitely wasn’t just a one-time thing…but the legendary Star-Lord had an image to maintain and that image didn’t involve tentacles and teeth in or on various body parts).

Unfortunately, this was exactly what Rocket was expecting from the legendary Star-Lord, a bit of an attempt to smooth-talk his way out of this situation before he fell into his usual perversities. And with that muffled moaning and panting going on, well…who _wouldn’t_ think that this was exactly what Quill had wanted, that this was some sort of fantasy come true after having hoarded some sick fetish  to himself for so long? It was a clash of cultures, a misunderstanding stemming from the ignorance of a children’s movie that was turning things from G-rated to XXX. A cruel grin began to contort his muzzle into an unnatural smirk, those twin rows of gleaming fangs almost reflecting the half-terrified, half-eager look that was plastered over the Terran’s face. The procyon’s hands moved back to grip tightly at the man’s collar, arms that hid surprising strength inside slamming Quill flat against the sheets as he growled lowly.

“Now, that’s what I thought. Peter Quill, Guardian of the Galaxy, savior of Nova Prime finally on his back ‘n under the group’s ‘mascot’. ‘N why? Cause he’s got a bit ‘f a thing fer fur…” Rocket glared down at the confused male beneath him, his bitter words just causing the Terran’s brows to knit together as he stopped panting out long enough to get a handle on the updated situation. This was all because Rocket felt underappreciated? Mistreated? It made sense when it was coupled with the blackmail, but before Quill could even think about forming a response, of telling the raccoon that wasn’t true, the procyon picked up where he left off and slammed the man against the bed once more. “Well, lessee just how inta it ya get, huh Gay-Lord.”

Immediately Quill scowled, the revision of his vigilante name just enough to snap him out of his stupor and send his once-glassy eyes glaring at the raccoon on top of him. Hands moved to grab at Rocket’s hips, and just as the mammal atop the Terran’s chest began to slide backwards, claws were digging into Peter’s shoulders, anchoring the raccoon there as he growled lowly “Aw, s’matter there Quill? I thought you were all up for this before!” Rocket’s grip tightened on his victim, sharp-tipped digits flexing into the cotton covered flesh below with almost enough force to break through both the fabric and the skin. Motioning down to that green covered crotch with his muzzle, Rocket almost cooed out to the other, his voice turning gravelly from how low he was speaking. “Go on…take ‘em off Quill.”

Quill’s reaction to both the claw-digging and the command were both not ideal, the former met with a stifled gasp and a buck of the hips while the latter was met with quiet contemplation. Was he seriously considering doing this right now? It wasn’t as if he found the thought of being with the raccoon too odd (see above: Askervaarians) or that he wasn’t sorta-kinda into what was happening to him right now; it was just the two were practically coworkers, and that this wasn’t being done as some sort of forbidden office tryst. Rocket was blackmailing him right now, initiating these relations in exchange for his silence. The question was, was this because Rocket felt a spark between the two before this and the blackmail was just a way to bring the two together, a means to an ends, or was this just a situation where he saw he could benefit so took advantage of it.

Maybe it was his mixtape with all of those dopey love songs on it, but for some reason Quill chose to believe the first of those two scenarios, never even considering there might be a third out there, and slowly hooked his thumbs around the forest green brief’s waistband. As soon as he felt the sensation of elastic over fur, Rocket leered down towards Quill, a hand moved from the Terran’s shoulder to his cheek, roughly patting the flesh there as he practically purred out “Oh yeah, now that’s what I’ve been waitin’ t’see. Go on boy, gettin there…”

Even though the comments were making the Terran’s eyes roll, Quill couldn’t help but feel a bit of color rise to his cheeks; the pelvic sorcerer was well-versed in talking dirty, but he quickly realized that compared to male on top of him, he was just a beginner. Rocket was made for this really; his don’t-give-a-shit attitude, all that sass, even his size helped to bolster the experience that Peter was signing himself up for, and rather than come across cheesy or corny, the words floating down to him were longed for…craved. And that’s why Quill couldn’t help but tug those briefs down more, inch after inch of fabric rolling in onto itself as he began to expose the grey fur beneath, the male’s heart rate picking up a beat or two as the first hints of the thicker tufts of fur surrounding the other’s crotch became visible.

The Terran already had an idea of what to expect, the memory of the other stalking forward naked back on the Kyln fresh in his mind, and as the next bit of fabric was pulled down he saw the first sliver of that awaited prize. “Might be a bit disappointed by what ya find there Quill…the docs really did try t’civilize _all_ ‘f me if ya catch m’drift.” Quill’s gaze lifted momentarily, eyes flicking from filled-out briefs to glowing amber eyes before he grunted an affirmative and moved back down, intent on freeing what the raccoon was packing for whatever fun awaited the pair.

Surprisingly, there was nothing animal about the procyon’s sex, no sheath or hidden length to talk of; instead, there was a half-hard humanoid length: thick, tan, and uncut. Apparently those scientists that had decided to pick Rocket up and stuff him full of metal to make him walk and talk like a man also decided that it was necessary to make the rest of the raccoon a fair deal more humanoid as well. Hearing Rocket speak of it himself was, well, sad…and the tone of indifference the other took up as he joked about his own mutilation was enough to get the Terran to pause for a moment to offer up some kind word to the raccoon.

But that was quickly interrupted as Rocket growled lowly and mashed his crotch against the human’s face, Peter simply sputtering out for a moment as he was marked with the raccoon’s scent. The smell of fur and masculinity washed over the Terran as Rocket continued to grind up against his face, the overpowering aroma of male musk and, interestingly enough, dense woodlands forming a heady amalgam that left Quill’s head spinning. Fingers clenched tightly into the male’s golden locks, the raccoon lifting the other’s head up and in to his groin until he could feel the hot breath pass out through the male’s nostrils, the sensation of the heated air over his rapidly inflating prick making the procyon practically purr out in delight. “Yeah, thassit Star-Queen, show me how much ya want it.”

Another grumble was all the other could respond with at first, the Terran surely about to break from the worship he was bestowing upon the raccoon to mutter something about his vigilante name; and that was exactly what Rocket had wanted. As soon as those lips parted to scold the raccoon, Rocket surged forward, the tip of his heavy length spearing into Quill’s maw; from that point, it was just nature at work. Rocket snarled as he thrust back and forth, his hips jerking wildly while he grunted down to the other “ _Flarkin’_! Don’ even think ‘bout –nng- usin’ those teeth…and get that tongue t’work bitch!”

Quill had lost himself by this point, too wrapped up in the moment to even think about the position he was in, that he should have had every right to cause his blackmailer some form of distress or harm. Instead, the Terran was letting himself be taken advantage of, slipping out of reality and holing himself away in some fantasy-pleasure world, where the only thing that mattered was how he and, more importantly, his furry counterpart felt. And with that alluring musk tickling his nose as he was pressed into the procyon’s crotch, with the swollen head of that cock painting thick strands of salty-sweet pre on his tongue, and with Rocket’s rough voice grunting things he had only dreamed about down to him, he was quite content to lose himself to pleasure. Hands moved up to grab the raccoon’s sides, fingers kneading at the furry hips in an attempt to help stabilize the smaller male that was rutting his face.

Rocket let out a flurry of d’asts, flarkin’s, and krutackin’s as he pumped into Quill’s mouth with reckless abandon, hissing quietly as his full six inches of cock (which is admittedly impressive for a guy that’s only three feet tall) pistoned between those lips. The procyon was drooling, tugging harder on the Terran’s hair and moaning out raucously while the larger male put his tongue to work, shuddering out and almost losing his balance as his knees went weak; luckily Quill’s grip remained steady as he ran his tongue over every inch of meat that was pumping into his mouth, wrapping and trailing the slick muscle along the fat shaft before slowly sliding up to flick it up under that hooded head.

Judging by looks alone, it was evident that the Terran was enjoying himself, moaning out with closed eyes as his nose was forced up into the other’s crotch, the larger male forced to take in that overwhelmingly male scent while swallowing down an increasing volume of pre. The half-human was now sporting a healthy sized bulge in those orange boxerbriefs of his, hips pumping up lazily as he was face-fucked by his fellow Guardian, and honestly, he would’ve been content in that position for a very long time: Rocket tugging hard on Quill’s hair, forcing him to swallow his prick while he cooed out what a good little cock-sucker the Terran was. Because of how long it had been since Rocket had been in the company of another, however, the night was much shorter lived.

The change was almost instantaneous; the raccoon pushing on Quill’s head instead of pulling it, a hasty retreat from that hot mouth instead of frantic pumping into it, a spastic string of muttered curses rather than the smooth flow of demeaning talk directed at the man moaning out around a cock. Rocket frantically grasped at the male before him, latching on to the side of his head as his hips pumped up once, twice, then held there in place as he howled out “ **Flarkin’….take it ya fur slut!** ”

Mouth hanging half open as he panted out, the lust-glazed look in Peter Quill’s eyes showed that he’d gladly comply with the smaller male’s demands, the Terran barely blinking as the raccoon’s first shot of seed left a streak of white painted over his face. Quill grunted quietly and opened his mouth wider as Rocket began to take aim, the next shot firing over the half-human’s tongue and lips, and the two slightly stronger blasts following that reached the spot between the man’s eyes before they slowly began to drip down his panting face.

Rocket looked down at his work with pride and offered up a fangy smirk before he grabbed the base of his cock and squeezed, milking out the last of his load before shoving his length into Quill’s mouth, allowing the Terran’s tongue to clean off the last of the spunk that was drooling down that hypersensitive head while he groaned out happily. Pulling out, the procyon slapped his dick over Peter’s lips as the male beneath slowly let his eyes flutter open, the smaller male actually letting a chittering chuckle leave his muzzle before he gave a few harsh slaps to the other cum-slickened cheek and rumbled “There, that should teach ya, huh fur-slut? Now leave Groot outta this ‘n we won’ have t’go through this again.”

As Rocket squatted down to tug his briefs up from his ankles, an increasing pressure along his hips had him pause to look to Quill and grunt out “Yeesh, easy with th’ legs, I only got this one pair…wha’s with the face now?”

As Peter clung hard onto the raccoon’s sides, the man glowered up at the smaller male; really, the man had never experienced this sort of 180 of emotions, going from blissfully in afterglow to  suddenly enraged. Brows were furrowed together and that usual dopey grin of his was rotated into a tight-lipped frown, the Terran saying nothing at first as he instead chose to shuffle up into a sitting position so he could appropriately glare at the other from a new perspective. Rocket seemed impatient as the other stared at him, a foot tapping quickly along the Terran’s leg while an eyebrow rose up in curiosity, obviously interested in what Peter had to say for himself. “This was all…a lesson?”

Rocket rolled his eyes and sighed out, once again trying to pull up his underwear so he could get out of his teammate’s room and get on with his day. “Well yeah, _someone_ had t’teach you sick weirdo that ya can’t just keep Groot up ‘n watch…watch _porn_ with him all night! Said it once ‘n I’ll say it again: ya got issues Quill.”

Rocket yelped out as Peter grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and started moving towards the door, the taller male growling over the raccoon’s frantic protests. “So, this was all to teach me huh? This was your little way of showin’ me just how stupid ya could make me look if I ever went against ya, if I ‘disobeyed’ your rules.” Quill was seething at this point, and really that wasn’t a good look for a guy with a jizz-coated face and pre-dampened underwear; but really, the man was too pissed off to focus on that right now. As the raccoon tried desperately to get a word in over the other, Quill held the other up outside the threshold of his door and scowled. “This wasn’t about blackmailing me, or seeing an opportunity open up, or… (god, what an idiot I had t’be to think this) you even _liking_ me. This was about embarrassing me cause you couldn’t watch a damn movie all the way through and were too butthurt over your wooden boyfriend spending alone time with someone else!”

The raccoon’s briefs had slipped off of his ankles somewhere along the way from the bed to the door, and with his jumpsuit flung down with Quill’s covers, Rocket was butt-naked as he was thrown out of the room, left with the parting words “Don’t talk to me again Rocket. Ever. Now get away from me.” After that, the bare raccoon could only blink wildly in confusion as the door slid closed in his face; ten seconds was all it took to have the raccoon pounding on Quill’s door, swearing up a storm and demanding his clothes back.

A subtle clearing of a throat was all Rocket needed to know he was no longer alone, so with his hands doing their best to cover his sex, the procyon turned around and offered Gamora a sheepish grin. The woman rolled her eyes and sighed out, fingers moving to pinch the bridge of her nose as she groaned “You did something stupid, didn’t you.”


End file.
